


Think it Over

by Romiress



Category: Batman (Comics)
Genre: Aftermath of Under-negotiated Kink, Choking, Contains No Actual Smut, Kink Negotiation, M/M, Other Relationship with Midnighter Mentioned, Rough Sex, Sexual Violence, established open relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-11
Updated: 2019-07-11
Packaged: 2020-06-26 15:02:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19770697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Romiress/pseuds/Romiress
Summary: Jason wakes up in a strangers bed with a throbbing headache. He's expecting to get kicked out. Instead he gets a lecture on why maybe, just maybe, he shouldn't be letting himself get used as a punching bag by strangers.





	Think it Over

Jason wakes and regrets it immediately. His head  _ throbs, _ and his entire body is one great big ache. His throat feels like someone sandpapers it, and rather than being comforting, the fact that he's in a particularly soft bed just makes him feel worse.

It's sure as hell not  _ his _ bed. Way too soft. He sinks into it, and the blankets are too soft, and the thread counts too high to be his apartment or any of his safehouses.

Jason's brain throbs again and he rolls over, emptying his stomaching into a conveniently placed trash can.

Jason groans, and the door pops open. It's a testament to how out of it he is that he doesn't even register the person's presence until the bed dips under their weight and a mug is pressed to his lips.

Jason twists his head away. His brain might be throbbing, but he has enough sense not to drink something the moment he's offered it.

Not that it matters. He's clearly been unconscious for who the hell knows how long, and he's not just missing his armor, but he's naked too.

Or mostly naked. A quick check confirms that while everything  _ else _ he was wearing has been stripped off, he still has his underwear.

The man—not at all familiar to Jason and effectively a complete stranger—takes the mug back, takes a gulp, and then holds it out for Jason to take.

He does, because his throat feels like garbage, and he drinks it anyway. If it's drugged, it's drugged. It's not going to change much.

It turns out to just be water, and while the water helps, his throat is still in absolute  _ agony. _

"So," the man says, "what's the last thing you remember?"

The last thing he remembers is a confusing haze. He remembers being at a club. He remembers a lot of alcohol. And he...

"Didn't I turn you down?" Jason says, cringing at the sound of his own voice. He remembers the man only in very general terms. He was at the bar. He was giving Jason the  _ do you want to fuck?  _ look. And Jason is almost entirely convinced he turned him down.

Not entirely because he wasn't interested. The guy's his type. A little bit older, about as muscular as he likes, and with all that confidence that Jason loves.

No, he'd declined because he'd already pulled a guy.

Well, that and the haircut. The guy's got a bit of what Jason calls the  _ fuckboy haircut. _ Shaved sides, shaggier top. He's seen a lot of assholes with that haircut, and maybe it's a bit shallow to judge the guy by it, but that's kind of what picking up a quickie at a bar is for: Being shallow.

"You did," the man says.

"But we fucked," Jason says, squinting at him. Connecting the dots between turning the guy down and waking up in his bed is not an easy task. But he was pretty sure it ended up with him getting fucked in an alley. He was  _ pretty _ sure that had happened.

"No," the man says, which derails that train of thought.

Jason scowls at him, and the man sighs.

"No," he says again. "We didn't fuck. You turned me down. You already had someone else,and I went and found someone else, and as I was leaving I walked out and found the dude you'd pulled choking you out. You were unconscious when I got him off you, and I'm pretty sure you didn't want to go to the hospital, so I brought you back here."

Jason vaguely— _ very _ vaguely—remembers something like that happening. But right then he's just happy the guy didn't check his wallet (wherever that is) and decide to try and drop him at home.  _ That _ would have ended with the guy splattered to the wall and Jason none the wiser.

"Listen," Jason says, his throat screaming with every word, "I appreciate you doing the good samaritan thing, but I didn't need help."

He fucking  _ hates _ having to explain this. He hates having to give the  _ I goddamn like this stuff _ speech. It feels personal and raw in a way he doesn't like, and the dude's a perfect stranger, so he's really just hoping he'll fuck right off without Jason needing to give it.

"Uh-huh," the guy says, folding his arms across his chest. "You didn't need help."

"Listen, you can shove your judgement up your ass. I asked for that. I like it. And if I find out you fucked that guy up because he was doing something I  _ asked  _ him to do-"

The guy laughs at him.

It's not a reaction Jason's ever gotten before in response to the  _ I like to be choked _ conversation (or the  _ I prefer it when they're rough _ conversation for that matter), and it halts his explanation entirely as he squints at the guy.

"Is  _ that _ what you thought this was?" The guy says. "You thought I was coming in here because I thought he was... what, trying to murder you?"

The guy reaches over and Jason spots his  _ fucking pants, _ neatly folded on the dresser. He's not sure how he missed it, but the guy plucks one of his knives off the top, flipping it in the air and catching it by the handle.

"Yeah yeah, you're a big scary tough guy who can stab a dude if he tries to get too rough to you," the guy says. He looks fucking  _ amused, _ which is not even close to the reaction Jason's used to getting. "Except, here's the thing you great big idiot... How the fuck are you going to stab someone while you're  _ unconcious?" _

Jason attempts to scowl at him even harder, which is difficult because his throat still feels like someone spent a good portion of last night choking him.

"I was just fine-"

"No you weren't you goddamn moron," the guy says, and he  _ still  _ sounds amused. "You were unconscious and he wasn't stopping, and  _ you _ were a few moments away from ending up with brain damage."

Oh.

Well, that was bad, and Jason bristled at the idea, but that didn't mean he couldn't handle himself.

"So I grabbed the wrong guy-"

"No," the guy says, "this isn't about grabbing the wrong guy. What was your hand signal?"

Jason squints at him because  _ what the fuck does that even mean? _

"My safeword?" He says, and the guy rolls his eyes.

"You use a safeword when you can  _ talk,"  _ he says. "You can't talk while you're being choked to death. And you shouldn't be doing breathplay shit with a guy you don't even know. That's the sort of thing you need to keep to someone you  _ trust." _

"I'm sorry," Jason says, good and annoyed now, "who the fuck are you to be giving me this lecture about  _ safe sex practices?" _

"M," the man says with a wave of his hand. "And anyway-"

"M  _ what?" _ Jason says. "I asked your name, not your goddamn sexual preference."

"M is my name," he says. "And-"

"M what? Mark? Michael?"

M rolls his eyes.

"You can keep guessing," he says, "but you're not going to get it."

"Fuck you," Jason says. "If you're looking for a thank you for hauling some asshole off me, you're not going to get it."

"Oh no," he says, "I get that. You're one of those guys who couldn't choke out a thank you to save your fucking life. All  _ I _ want is to hopefully impress upon you the importance of not being so  _ fucking horny _ that your desire to get fucked ends up with you dead in an alley."

The guy—M—goes from  _ deeply amused _ to  _ actually pissed _ at the drop of a hat.

"Fuck you," Jason says again, because his brain hasn't caught up enough to come up with a proper response.

"If I wanted to," M says, leaning in, "I absolutely could."

His voice is so goddamn  _ husky _ and Jason—whose body absolutely cannot handle anything even close to sex—feels his cock twitch in response.

Fuck.

Jason can't tell if M notices or not, because he's so close,  _ right _ up in front of his face, and Jason forgets how to breath.

"You should see how much of a mess you looked like last night," M says. "Your throat's purple and you've got bruises all over and you looked so fucking  _ fucked out, _ so there wasn't any sort of question on if you'd invited it. But you were still being stupid. If you want to get into the rough shit, you need to be  _ careful,  _ and you were most definitely  _ not _ being careful."

Jason has to (very reluctantly) admit that he was not, in fact, being careful. That he might have rushed things a bit. He grinds his teeth.

"It's not like it's easy finding someone," Jason says, but the protest sounds weak even to him. "Finding someone who'll fuck around."

"I am literally right here," M says. "And god knows you've already run into enough shitty doms to last a lifetime."

Jason has no idea what he's talking about until he realizes that M's eyes have settled on one of his larger scars peeking out from under the blankets.

And then he realizes that M at some point stripped him down to his underwear to tuck him into bed and saw the absolute  _ mess _ of scars that make up Jason's body.

And  _ then _ he realizes that M has drawn the absolute wrong conclusion about where those scars came from, only he can't possibly explain that no, he isn't the world's largest dumbass without also explaining  _ those are from my night job, I'm a vigilante-slash-crimelord, _ and he absolutely does not want to do that.

So he has to bite his tongue and let M carry on with the assumption that he is the world's biggest dumbass.

"So how about," M says, "next time you're so fucking desperate that you're about to let someone choke you to death, you give me a call."

Jason doesn't often blush or get embarrassed, but right then his face is  _ definitely _ heating up.

"Until you hook up with someone else," Jason says. "And you're suddenly off the market."

M laughs.

"What, is this your way of asking me out? Trying to lock me down for yourself?"

Jason rolls his eyes.

"I can do better," he says. "No, it's me pointing out that every time someone offers anything like this they end up dating someone a week later and I'm back on my ass."

"I already  _ am _ dating someone," M says, "and we have an agreement. I fuck whoever the hell I want, and I tell him all about it."

Oh. That seems... sensible. And sort of solves Jason's problem. But that doesn't stop Jason from squinting at him as M picks himself up.

"I'm going to make breakfast," he says. "You like eggs?"

Jason almost moans. The idea of having actual food in him sounds  _ heavenly. _

"If I can choke them down," he says.

"You're going to want to invest in some turtlenecks," M says. "You're going to have those bruises for at least a week, and right now it's the world's most blatant handprint."

Jason doesn't own any turtlenecks, but that doesn't matter. His suit hides his neck anyway.

"Food'll be ready in a bit. Shower's over there. Clothes are right here."

He pats the stack of clothes as he leaves, closing the door behind him.

Jason doesn't like what he finds when he looks in the mirror. If anything, M has  _ vastly _ understated how bad the bruising is. There's no way anyone could give him so much as a glance without knowing someone tried to choke him out, and the bruising is too vivid for anyone he knows to think it happened with the suit on.

_ Goddamnit. _

That means he's going to have to spend the next week hiding in his house, because there is  _ absolutely no fucking way _ he's letting anyone he knows find out. He'd never hear the end of it.

He showers until the water starts going cold and then grabs one of the guys overly fluffy towels, drying himself off. He's got so many bruises, and looking down at all his scars...

Christ, M has to think he is  _ literally _ the world's biggest dumbass to have so many.

His gun and his knives are all neatly stacked on top of his clothes, and double checks to make sure everything's still there.

His clothes show signs of having been washed, because there's no way they were so clean after a quickie in a dirty alley, but it makes pulling them on just a little bit easier. There's the soft sound of voices just on the other side of the door, so Jason  _ very _ carefully slips the door open, pressing himself against it to listen.

"...Didn't end up fucking him," he hears M saying. "But he has a nice ass, and I think he'd be fun to have around."

Jason rolls his eyes.

"And he's listening right now," M says, and Jason wonders how the hell he  _ knows, _ because he's gone out of his way to be as quiet as possible.

He grunts and opens the door. M's got a  _ kiss the cook _ apron on and looks to be in the middle of making an omelette. He grins at Jason and nods to the side, where someone—probably the mysterious  _ fine with M fucking around _ boyfriend—is sitting.

Only the moment Jason's eyes settle on an all-too-familiar back, it's a race to see if he can retreat to the bedroom fast enough.

He's too slow. He doesn't make it back inside before  _ Dick fucking Grayson _ finishes turning his head, mouth dropping open and eyes going wide with recognition.

_ "Jason!?" _

"Oh good!" M says. "You two know each other. Saves me the introduction."

He looks _way_ too amused.


End file.
